


Help Me, Help You

by cumberbabeswillrise



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 13:18:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1511930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumberbabeswillrise/pseuds/cumberbabeswillrise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your best friend dies in a demon attack, and you begin drinking to take away the pain. Dean gets all hypocritical and yells at you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Help Me, Help You

Alex was dead. Holy shit, was she dead. You stare down at her cold, unmoving body. She's covered in blood, some of it yours, but most of it hers. There's so much of it. It's everywhere.

“This is your fault,” Alex whispers, her body beginning to move. She stands up and you can hear all of her broken bones cracking and grinding. “You did this to me.”

She was right, you had done this to her. You broke and beat her body until that demon told you everything. You knew Alex was dead before you did it, though. You had made sure.

Alex moves forward, catching your wrist in her broken hand. You can feel a piece of bone poking into your palm. She opens her mouth wide, letting out a screeching, blood curdling scream, just like she had before she died.

 

You wake up screaming. Dean is on top of you holding down your arms with his knees, his hands cupping your face.

“(Y/N), wake up! It's me! It's Dean. You're okay,” Dean looks directly into your eyes, yelling. “You're safe.”

“Dean?” you ask. You can feel the adrenaline leaving your system. Your chest heaves, and you try to calm down, but you can still see her face.

“It's fine. You're okay.”

 

Later, you sit at the small table in the motel room, researching on your laptop. Your eyes are getting a little hazy, the three glasses of whiskey was getting to you. You take another sip anyway.

You can't remember Alex's face, and you're strangely okay with that. You don't ever want to see it again, you don't want to feel like that again. Your chest has gone comfortably numb, your brain is working a little slower. You don't even have to think.

“So, what do we got?” Dean asks, sitting next to you.

“Uhm, nothing so far.” You move your head towards him a little, and he winces.

“Holy shit, (Y/N), how much have you had?” Dean takes the bottle of dollar store whiskey from you, putting it under the table, out of your reach.

“Not enough. I'm still awake, aren't I?” you laugh bitterly.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean yells, standing up from the table. “Why the ever loving _fuck_ are you doing this? Do you have any idea what drinking your problems away will do?”

You laugh again, standing and sizing Dean up. “Because I can't fucking stand waking up anymore, Dean! I wake up every morning wishing that I hadn't. But you know what the worst thing is, Dean?” You know that you're screaming, but you don't care. “I _fucking deserve it._ I deserve to feel this shitty. I killed my fucking best friend! I broke her body into pieces!”

“Fuck!” Dean grabs the cup from the table, smashing it against the wall. “You are killing yourself.” He points a finger unceremoniously to your chest.

“Are you kidding me?” You laugh darkly. “You're the fucking drunk, Dean. You think I don't notice that flask? The constant 'going out' to bars? You think I can't smell it on your _breath?_ ”

Dean's face drops. “You don't know shit.”

“You think that? I know exactly how it feels to look into that mirror and hate what you see. Don't be a hypocrite and say that I shouldn't drink, Dean, when you're the fucking champion at it.” You turn on your heels and walk out the door, making sure you grab the whiskey bottle with you. You can feel him staring at your back, but you're too frustrated to care.

 

“You awake?” you whisper as you walk into the hotel room many hours later.

“No,” comes a growl from the shadows.

“I'm sorry.”

“I know. I'm sorry.”

“I know.”

You walk over to where Dean's voice originated, feeling for him in the darkness. He grabs your hand and pulls you down over him, wrapping his large arms around you. “Help me quit and I'll help you,” he whispers into your ear.

“It's so hard, though.” You feel tears begin to stream down your face. God, this fucking sucks. You didn't want this; to make him feel bad. You had regretted those words right when you said them. You had no right to say such horrible things to him, not after all that he's been through.

“They say two heads are better than one,” a dark chuckle. You two could beat this, together. Nothing was impossible with (Y/Full/N) and Dean Winchester.

 


End file.
